


Drinking Customs and Beyond

by trollmela



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Éomer finds out some of the most important differences between elves, men and dwarves, and that Legolas is a prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinking Customs and Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> Rewatching the movies I noticed again that Aragorn introduces Legolas as being "from the Woodland Realm" without mentioning that he is the son of Thranduil, and thus a prince. Every time I see that I wonder why he does this and whether the Rohirrim actually understand and appreciate who is helping them fight. That question isn't really addressed here, but it's what I came up with because I like going into cultural differences, the apparent lack of co-operation between the races in Middle-earth after the Last Alliance, and finally I have an especially soft spot for the Rohirrim (and Éomer in particular) - it's probably the blond hair.

Gimli sighed sadly at the tankard of water. Éowyn had put it forcefully in front of him, telling him off for the drinking game the night before which he had, most unfortunately, lost to the elf. He would have liked to have slept longer, but Pippin’s curiosity about the black seeing stone had put an end to his rest, as his pained shouts had woken not just Gandalf, but all of them. Of course he was glad that the hobbit was well, but he could complain anyway.

“Hangover?” Éomer inquired, although he did not look particularly sympathetic.

Gimli laughed. “Dwarves don’t get hangovers, horse master.”

Éomer raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? How interesting! So elves don’t get drunk, and dwarves don’t get a hangover.”

Gimli smirked. “Oh, they do get drunk, elves.” Seeing Legolas approaching, he called out to him: “Legolas, why don’t you tell Éomer here of the dwarves your father imprisoned and who escaped while the elven guards were _passed out drunk_?” And turning back to Éomer, he added: “One of those dwarves was my father, which is why I know that story so well!” He chuckled.

If elves ever rolled their eyes, Legolas looked to be very close to it. At the very least he looked exasperated.

Éomer gave him a questioning look. “That sounds like the stories of rivalry and strife that we are used to hearing about elves and dwarves.”

The dwarf laughed uproariously. “There was a hobbit involved, too. Tell me, where were you that day, princeling?”

Legolas gave him an unimpressed look. “If you must know, I was one of the first to discover their absence.” To Éomer he explained: “A group of dwarves trespassed into our lands. They were captured, but refused to cooperate. So we put them into our dungeons. We did not know that we hadn’t captured all of them: a hobbit was with them, and he carried the One Ring at the time, which he thought was only a trinket that made him invisible. Of course we didn’t know any of this at the time, and only because of that did the hobbit go undetected. One day, as my people celebrated, the guards had too much to drink and fell asleep. The hobbit freed the dwarves, put them into wine barrels,” and there Legolas smirked with open satisfaction at the disgraceful escape, “and threw them into the river through which they escaped. Then a band of orcs came that had been following them, and the fact that they survived was not least due to my bow.” He threw Gimli a truly haughty look. A few weeks ago, before Gimli had come to know Legolas better, he would have been outraged.

Gimli harrumphed. “You’re not telling the story right. Some other time I will tell you what really happened, horse master, but the point is that elves do get drunk. Of course, it figures that Thranduil had his son here weaned on Dorwinion, and your ale, although very good, does not compare to that wine.”

“He’s right. Although it’s not true that I was weaned on it as Gimli implies, Dorwinion wine is a lot more potent than your ale. My father has some appreciation for it, but elves who are not used to it, such as those guards, easily overindulge.”

“Your father is king of the elves?” Éomer asked. He had heard of Thranduil, the elven king, but had not realized that he now knew his son personally.

“He is King Thranduil of the Great Greenwood, which you will probably know as Mirkwood.”

“You are a prince among your folk, and yet you are here fighting for men,” the Rohirrim realized with astonishment.

“Elven lines of royalty are perhaps not as vital as they are to men. I’m my father’s only son, but it is unlikely that he will ever not be king. As for who I fight for, I fight for Middle-earth, as we all must if we wish to survive. It is true that most elves are leaving these lands, but not my people who, for the most part, have no desire to go West.”

Éomer looked down. “I admit I know little of the elven lands and their people. I suppose the same applies to dwarves. We hear so little of either, and when they come to our lands, they are only passing through and have just as little to say. There is much suspicion between the races.”

“Well, we’re here now, and will be happy to tell you what you want to know. Who knows, it may be of use to you in the future, since, unlike Legolas, you will certainly be king one day,” Gimli said. “I’m no youngling among my people, nor would yours consider me one. But this quest has taught me much, and one of those lessons is that all races could do with a little more working together and a little less suspicion.”

“Wise words, friend dwarf,” Éomer agreed.

“First lesson on dwarves: never call them short,” Legolas lectured.

Éomer laughed. “I think I have learnt that lesson!”


End file.
